


Forget.

by ThatBirdBitch



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is only mentioned, Character Death, Dealing With Loss, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:00:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22058929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatBirdBitch/pseuds/ThatBirdBitch
Summary: Hastur is used to things being taken from him.A demon shouldn’t miss things, or grieve, but left alone with the apocalypse dawning, times are changing.
Relationships: Hastur & Ligur (Good Omens), Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens), kinda? - Relationship
Kudos: 17





	Forget.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago, decided to give it life online. Also Hastur is my baby let's hurt him.

Hastur was used to things being taken from him.

He was used to the world being yanked out from under his feet, used to finding something to hope for, only for it to be torn from his hands. He was used to the pain of loss, used the fear, the emptiness. Being a demon didn't make feeling any less real, it just made it worse. You couldn't show that you felt, you just buried it until you stopped feeling.

Hastur had gotten pretty good at that, not feeling. He stopped believing, had fully given up. Hell was everything, and heaven was no longer a place for him. He'd never have his long, beautiful hair and prestige white and blue wings, he'd never sing in a choir again. Hastur was just Hastur, a demon. His wings were now sullied and shedding feathers with every step, his hair tangled and shorn. He was broken, and he had to stand on broken legs and pretend it didn't hurt.

Being surrounded by the endless pain and dread of hell had helped, in a way. Eventually it stopped hurting, it just kind of faded into the background. The pain was like the muted roar of anger and the tortured souls of hell, you never noticed them unless you listened, and nobody ever listened anymore.

But Hastur didn't stand alone, and that was his mistake. Unlike the others who cast aside any friends or associates as their souls withered and died, Hastur had clung to the past like a child to their mothers skirt.

Ligur had fought beside him, a fellow soldier he had trusted to watch his back. Now, they were demons who had darkness clawing at their hearts, but they hadn't forgotten just yet. Where other demons lost memories every day, Hastur and Ligur kept a balance of past and present. For every memory they lost, a new one was there. Perhaps a little darker, perhaps a little sadder, but there.

They fell together. They shared assignments and leaned on one another as much as they dared. They worked alongside Crawley until they didn't. They were soldiers until they weren't. No matter what, they stuck beside one another. A frog who hid among the dark waters in shame and a chameleon who blended in to avoid the eyes around them, two fallen angels.

Nothing ever lasted. Hastur knew this. He'd been down this same road so many times, even after one time led to his fall from grace, yet he stupidly kept walking. Hastur wasn't too bright, was he?

Hastur had begun to...he wouldn't say love, love was something that had died in demons long ago, but deeply care for Ligur. When they were angels he would have proudly stated that Ligur was his brother, that he would proudly serve with him, but they weren't angels anymore. He didn't see Ligur as a brother, in fact, he wasn't sure what Ligur was. Ligur just...was. He was a constant, a pillar that Hastur knew would be there through the storm.

Where Hastur was emotional and felt more than a demon had any right to, Ligur wasn't emotional in the slightest. All of his emotions were in his ever changing eyes, and only Hastur could ever read them. If a general couldn't find Hastur, they call for Ligur, and so on. Their codependency was frowned upon by many demons, spit upon and hissed at by others. Demons didn't trust each other, didn't care for each other, so why should they?

And everything came to a head when Crowley, someone Hastur had once seen as a friend, betrayed them. A shitty demon, that Hastur had always known, but he hadn't expected Crowley to betray them so violently. Sure, Hastur had betrayed demons before, but those were usually expendables. Ligur was not expendable.

Crowley had set up that Holy Water knowing that either Hastur or Ligur would pass through, and Hastur would make him suffer for it.

Watching Ligur die was the final straw, the last hold on anything. Hastur remembered the confused horror, the crushing realization that had crept over him like the chill of winter as Ligur howled and screamed. He remembered screaming himself, body jerking as he didn't know what to do with it.

And them, simply put, everything had clicked.

Hastur knew what every demon had meant what they talked about truly being demons. When you finally lost what you loved, what you cared for, you truly lost your soul. Crowley loved something enough to remain who he was, but Hastur's last hope had just burned to the ground. He was going to rip Crowley apart, find what the demon loved and tear it from him like everything had been torn from Hastur over and over.

When Hagur was stuck in Crowley's answering machine, trapped with that insufferable loop of a voice tinged with grace, he tried to remember. Voices were already fuzzy and faces were blurry at the edges. The longer time passed, the less of Ligur was remembered. By the time that Hastur had gotten out, he had trouble remembering what animal Ligur had been, if he had ever been one at all.

Demons forgot easily. A newly fallen would soon forget what heaven and Her grace had felt like. They would soon forget who they had known. They would know faces and names, sure, but all bonds withered and died in the desolate halls of hell. It was the same with demons dying. Not Legion, he was still alive despite his clones, but any other poor unfortunate soul. You can see the same demon every day and remember their name, but once they die, they nearly cease to have ever been.

Ligur's name was still there, the slightly fuzzy still image in his face still floated in Hastur's head, but he kept forgetting why. He knew he couldn't have loved Ligur-demons don't love- but he knew Ligur was important. Whoever they were, Crowley was the reason they were gone. 

Maybe he'd remember more when he saw Crowley again, maybe he wouldn't. All he knew what that he needed to talk to Crowley, to make him pay.

And maybe the image of a dark skinned man with expressive eyes and a too soft voice would haunt him in the quiet moments, but it blended in well with the countless other faceless and blurry figures that Hastur had long since forgotten.

As was the afterlife of a demon.


End file.
